See you around 4:30
by LissaJC1980
Summary: Dean decides to hop in the car and go find Cas, not really thinking about why or what he expects when he gets there. I was listening to a Sara Evans song, Four Thirty, and thought to myself that this would make a great Destiel story :) Set approximately around 9x15, give or take. Two chapters total, is now complete
1. Chapter 1

Dean sat in the front seat of the Impala tapping the wheel with one thumb. He glanced down at the keys he held in his other hand and questioned for what felt like the 965th time if this was a good idea. They hadn't heard anything definitive from Cas in weeks, just a couple very short text messages indicating he was still alive. Crowley was who the fuck knows where and Sam was still creeping around the bunker like any small interaction with Dean would cause him to spontaneously combust. All he had to hang onto was those stupid texts from Cas, and he was holding on like they were a damn life raft and he was on the Titanic. He pulled out his phone and looked at it again.

"I'm ok" was the last one, a couple days ago. It was so small, so short, but in it he found some hope. Cas was still fighting the good fight. Even after all this time and all his fuck ups, the dude just kept coming. He had made a few calls, told a few lies, and managed to get the GPS turned on for Castiel's phone. But now that he knew where the guy was, he couldn't make up his mind to go there. Yeah, he knew he could pray and beg and Cas would probably flutter into the bunker on a breeze of ice and thunder, but Dean really wanted to clear his head, spend some time driving, ALONE, and see if there was anything he could do to help Cas. See if Cas could do anything to help him…

That last thought came unbidden, he didn't really need help, did he? I mean, yeah, he and Sam were a mess together but there was nothing Castiel could do for that. And the stupid Mark of Cain didn't seem to be doing anything at the moment that would warrant angelic assistance. What the fuck did he want from Cas? He didn't really know. Maybe he wanted to see someone look at him like he wasn't a waste of space. A complete failure. Like Sam looked at him now. Like his own face in the mirror. Only Cas had tried to tell him he was stupid for the right reasons. He didn't buy it, not really, but the thought of being with someone who did actually believe it was comforting. Helpful. He put the keys in the ignition.

The two lanes ahead of him were clear, not many cars, he turned the music up really loud, and he loved the crisp air whistling through the passenger window he had cracked open. Being alone, in his car, just driving, was balm. Soothing. Calming. It was dark out and the stars glittered like ice shards in the chill night. He glanced at the clock. It was somewhere around 2am. He noticed a sign for an all night truck stop and decided to pull over for some coffee to go and keep rolling.

He noticed a sign for Des Moines and figured he was getting close. Cas was just outside the city. It was nearing 4am, and he should probably stop, be he figures he will be where he wants to be around 4:30 and if he just make it, he knows Cas will be awake. Angels don't sleep anyway. He takes another swig of the coffee which was now cold and pretty nasty. But he swallows anyway. His cell buzzes on the seat beside him. Sam. He ignores it. Fuck that pain in the ass. A few moments pass. A text pings. He sighs and looks at it quickly. "Where the fuck are you!?" he reads and chuckles. "If you read the goddamn note I left on the goddamn table you would know where I was, jackass!" he says out loud to the phone, then tosses it back down. Texting and driving isn't the best plan when you are awake in the wee hours and running on fumes for energy. He'll call Sam later. After he gets to Castiel. He envisions the bitchface Sam must be making at the phone because Dean is not responding and laughs a little. He notices this is the exit he wants and veers onto the ramp. He will be there by 4:30 for sure.

The motel is small and crappy and almost empty. It only takes a $10 at the desk to find out Cas's room from the 20 something guy sitting there with his eyes glued to the television. Dean still doesn't really know why he is doing this, or why he so doesn't want Cas to know he is coming. Warning or not, if he wants to, the guy can literally vanish into thin air. Something he doesn't really understand is driving him, so he surrenders to it. He walks back outside, down the line of rooms to 543. He lifts his hand to knock, pauses for a breath, two, three, then very gently raps his knuckles on the door. He doesn't hear anything. The thought flits across his mind that maybe Cas is asleep. I mean, the grace he has isn't really his Grace, maybe his isn't fully angeled up. His doubts whirl, and he takes a step back, wonders if he should just leave, then the door cracks open and he sees one sapphire blue eye peek out. As soon as Castiel realizes who it is, the door opens the rest of the way and he breathes out Dean's name in that gravel voice.

"Hey, Cas" Dean tries his best to smile and be nonchalant, despite his overwhelming desire to literally pick his friend up and squeeze him to death. Fortunately Cas can't be squeezed to death, side perk of the whole angel deal,

Castiel's face is bemused, and swiftly flickers with concern. "What's wrong, how did you find me? Where's Sam?" The questions are rapid fire.

" Can I come in first?" Dean huffs a laugh. Cas frowns, still confused, but steps back and lets Dean through the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean walks into Castiel's room. "Sam is at the bunker, probably cursing my name for taking off, and nothing is really wrong….I just, I don't know, thought maybe you could use some help…" he trails off. His mind finished with _and I missed you_, but there was no way in hell he was letting those words have voice.

Castiel still looks unsure, and maybe a bit wary. He also looks like he is completely drained and hurting, but that he tries to hide. It shows in very small flickers behind his usually stoic eyes. Dean doesn't think anyone else would be able to tell, but he can. He can read Cas as well as he can read himself, or Sam. He knows him.

"Any luck with Metatron? What's going on with you?" Dean drops his bag and sits on the edge of the bed, eyes unwavering on Cas. Castiel doesn't respond right away. It during the heavy the silence that Dean realizes he isn't wearing his new and improved trench coat or his jacket. Just the shirt and pants and the shirt is untucked. He looks weary, vulnerable.

"No, I haven't found him. I have found warring angel factions that are tearing each other apart. They want me to lead them. I….I don't know that I can." He looks down. His shoulders slump under an invisible weight.

"Why not?" Dean arcs his brow in question.

Cas's eyes shoot up. "How can you even ask me that!? You of all people. You know what I have done. How much destruction I have wrought. I destroyed heaven. TWICE! I nearly destroyed your brother. I am not someone who should have power. Not ever again. But if I don't do something the angels will annihilate themselves and even if heaven is restored, there will be no one left to maintain it. I….I don't know what to do, Dean."

His face looks so anguished, so troubled, such a mirror of Dean's own in recent weeks. He feels a rush of tightness in his chest. "Hey, you are not the same guy you were. I can see that. The other angels can see it too. You won't make the same mistakes." It sounds hollow to his own ears, but he can't think of anything else to say. Cas's mouth twitches in what resembles a bitter smile.

"Enough about me. Why are you really here, Dean?"

Dean looks at the floor. "Sam is still pissed at me. Stuff is just shitty all around, and I wanted to be with a friend for a while, ya know? Just me and you and our friend Jack." He reaches for his bag and pulls out the bottle of whiskey. Cas tilts his head, the Castiel confused pose that makes Dean want to chuckle.

"You know I can't get drunk, not anymore."

"I know, but I can. Work with me here, buddy. One evening we can just sit and drink and brood in silence together. Whaddya say?"

Cas is silent still, eyes unreadable. "You didn't have to come here for that, you could have called me. How DID you find me, anyway? "

Dean doesn't say anything. He cards his fingers through his hair and looks back down at the floor. The silence stretches. Becomes brittle. Finally it is too sharp, and he has to break it.

" I just needed to go. Drive. Get away from Sam, get away from everything. And I lied to get your cell GPS turned on. That's how I found you."

"You lied?"

"Uh, yeah. Why do you always act so surprised about that?"

The bitter smile becomes something a little warmer. Cas gets up and grabs the cheap plastic cups next to the empty ice bucket. He hands one to Dean. Dean gets up and sets his cup on the small table beside Castiel's and fills them both with a couple inches of golden fluid. "Umm…cheers? " He snorts. Cas tips his cup back, downs it in one go. Dean chooses to sip his, rather than end up hammered right off the bat. He doesn't have Castiel's magical holy alchohol tolerance. He refills Castiel's cup and they kind of mull their thoughts in companionable silence.

"You should do it." Dean says softly.

"What?"

"Take the angels up on their offer. Lead them. I think you should do it."

Cas looks at him, brows pinched. His eyes speak for him. Pain, worry, doubt, fear.

"The fact that you don't WANT it, means you should do it. People who want power are the ones who shouldn't have it." Dean takes another sip of his whiskey. Rolls it around in his mouth, then swallows.

Cas says nothing still, just nods minutely. "What are you going to do about Sam?"

Dean shrugs. "Fuck if I know. He is still pissed, I have no idea if he will ever get over it. He said he wouldn't have done the same thing if it were me. " He wipes a hand over his face, sighing again.

"I don't think he meant that." Cas tries to sound reassuring. It almost works. Dean sets his cup on the table and flops backwards on the bed, stares at the ceiling.

"Maybe. Maybe not. I can't tell what the hell is going on his head right now. And Crowley is fuck knows where looking for the damn first blade, and we have Abaddon running around…..it's all too much, ya know?"

Cas is frowing, his expression dark. "What did you say?"

"About what?" Dean rolls onto his elbow.

"Crowley? The first blade? " Castiel looks, for lack of a better word, pissed.

"Uh, yeah. It was the only way to gank Abaddon."

"But you know what you need to make the blade work…"Cas trails off when Dean rolls up his sleeve. His eyes widen and his hand reaches out as if to touch, but doesn't. "Dean….no!" his voice is so soft, so pained, it makes Dean wince.

"I know, it's not exactly a great deal, but I kind of had no choice. " Dean turns his eyes back to the ceiling, unable to look at the hurt in Castiel's face.

"That mark comes at a great cost, Dean. I don't want to see you suffer it."

"Well that ship has already sailed. It's done. We just need the blade, which is currently somewhere in the ocean and Crowley is supposed to be finding it. Except we can't find HIM so who knows how that is going." He glances at Cas, who still looks pained in a way that Dean really doesn't like. He turns his eyes back to the ceiling.

Again the silence stretches. He has no idea why he feels so uncomfortable. Like his skin is tight and he can't really breathe properly. He finally sits up and grabs his glass, tips the remainder down his throat. He finally meet's Castiel's eyes, almost challenging him. Cas reaches out and takes Dean's cup, gently. "I will do what I can to protect you. " Cas says solemnly, gesturing at the mark on his arm. Dean feels a flush of warm, figures the alcohol probably hit his bloodstream at that moment.

"More?" Dean asks, waggling the bottle at his friend. Cas holds out the cup. Dean refills them both. "So whaddya say we see what's on the idiot box?" He walks over the to the TV and clicks it on. The screen glows in the dim room. Dean grabs the remote control and flops back on the bed. It feels nice to be here, safe, and although he knows how insane it is to just be hanging out in a hotel room with a fucking angel when there is so much going on, a war for hell, a war between the angels, Heaven locked up, souls trapped on earth. He can't bring himself to care in that moment.

Castiel leaves his empty cup on the table and walks over to the bed where Dean has propped himself against the headboard, remote in hand, flipping through the channels. He slides in beside Dean, just inches from touching and tucks his arm behind his head.

"You should sleep, Dean" He gestures vaguely at the tv.

"Nah. I can sleep later. "

"What movie is this?" Cas asks

".Eastwood flick. Unforgiven" Dean responds. Cas smirks a bit.

"Appropriate title I suppose."

"Yeah….I guess so." Dean 's laugh is mostly just a breath of air. He toes off his boots and crosses his ankles. Cas leaves his shoes on, but mimics Dean's movements. Dean tosses the remote down on the bed between them and puts his own arm behind his head. The men look like mirror images with the light from the screen flickering over their faces. The clock ticks in the silence.

"Soooo, you gonna do it?" Dean asks. He doesn't have to explain.

"Maybe." comes the reply. "What is the saying, third time's a charm? I screwed up twice, maybe this time I can get it right."

Dean snorts. "Maybe. "

"Sam will come around, you know. "

"Another big maybe." Dean rolls his eyes.

"No. He will. I am sure. And I will help where I can."

"Thanks, Cas. That means a lot man."

They don't talk anymore. Sometime in the early morning, Dean falls asleep. He doesn't remember when or what happened, just that when he wakes he is covered in a blanket and alone. He rubs his eyes and looks around. The curtains are closed, the TV ifs off, and the room is totally silent. "Dammit, Cas!" He mutters, annoyed but not totally surprised.

He decides to take his time, take a shower, and when he finally rolls out into the daylight it is probably close to noon based in the height of the sun. He glances at his phone as he slides into the front seat of the Impala and sees 9 missed calls and 7 text messages. All Sam. Well lookie that, guess the asshole did give a shit after all, at least a little. He is able to smile a little, and feels lighter than he has in weeks. He starts the car and flips open his phone to call Sam back, because he has work to do. Time to save the fucking world, one more time.


End file.
